


It's Warm When We're Together

by sunshine (sunshinepiveh)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:10:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5395361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinepiveh/pseuds/sunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim isn't what you'd call a fan of the holidays. He doesn't like that sentimental crap, and kind of resents  (in a nice way) all the schmaltzy, God-bless-us-every-one sort of junk that inundates his ship around  December. He's never rude or anything, but it's just not for him. Why would it be? He doesn't have a  family to share it with, and his friends are always busy with their own families to think of inviting him.  (well, really they feel uncomfortable because they like Jim and all, but he's their Captain and that's just  not appropriate and/or Jim really would never intrude on Bones and Jo's time together since they get so  little of it.) Enter Spock. He wants to ask Jim to spend time with him but is not sure how. What a mess.  </p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Warm When We're Together

**Author's Note:**

> beta: littlemonkfish
> 
> This story is part of KSAdvent2015. You can find more stories (and videos, and artwork) in the KSAdvent series here:  
> http://ksadvent.livejournal.com/
> 
> Please check them out!  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**December 1** **st** **, or The Day of the Jovial Music.**

 It was December first, and Jim Kirk hadn't even remembered that it was December. Time had a way of getting away from you in the big black, and with the use of stardates for his logs, it was easy to forget the Earth calender in the day-to-day. And so when he emerged from his quarters that morning on his way to the commissary for breakfast, he wasn't prepared for the music piping over the loudspeakers throughout the halls and all the public spaces.

 

_Santa Claus is coming to town..._

 

His brain froze. He mentally calculated the actual Earth date... and winced. December first, and already it had begun. A cold pit formed in his stomach. God help him, he was starting to feel as grumpy as McCoy. And yet, Bones didn't seem too distraught himself when Kirk spotted him in the cafeteria, humming away to the tacky, ancient tunes. 

 

“Mornin', Jim!” Bones said with a genuine smile -- a _genuine smile --_ on his normally grumpy face. Jim could have just punched him, and immediately felt like a shitty person. 

 

“Mornin', Bones” he returned with a small smile of his own, doing his best to tune out the jingles. It wasn't at all in the spirit of the holiday for him to begrudge his crew this. Jim sat down with his cup of black coffee, dubiously eyeing Bones' bowl of what must be gruel. “Spock.” He nodded as the Vulcan slid in to join them.

 

“Captain.” Spock nodded stiffly. He daintily tucked into his mixed fruit, and Jim couldn't help but approve. If one was going to suffer through healthy eating, they could at least have the decency to eat something that looked like food. Not gruel.

 

“Damnit, Jim.” Bones scowled. “Is that all you're going to eat? Breakfast is the most important --”

 

“Shut up, Bones,” Jim griped. They did this every morning. Every. Single. One. At least something was routine in the midst of all of this holiday cheer.

 

Spock interjected before he had to listen to the same thing for the millionth time. “I cannot help but notice that these... _festive_ tunes have made their way into the corridors this year, whereas in the last two they were consigned to the cafeteria and lounges.”

 

“Yeah,” Jim explained with a bit of an exasperated smile, “It was Lieutenant Uhura's little project. I gave her the go-ahead at least a month ago. I can't really say no when she's head of Communications and we're stuck in a dead zone for at least the next two months.” That was the other thing. Not only did Jim have to put up with this cheer, but there was absolutely nothing to distract him from it. He would have given anything for a mission, but space was big, _really_ big, and the amount of time between missions far outweighed the time spent on them, even with a warp drive to speed them along.  

 

“What, don't tell me you're complaining about a little Christmas cheer, Mister Spock,” Bones provoked.    

Jim snorted. “Come on, Bones. You know very well that Spock's too Vulcan to let a little Christmas music get to him.”

 

“In fact --” Spock began.

 

“It's not a _disease_ , Jim. It's not something that's supposed to _get_ to anybody. I should know. I'm a doctor.” 

 

Jim smiled with genuine amusement, his own grouchy mood easing a bit as Bones took it up for him.  

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he joked dismissively. “Peace on Earth is basically your motto.” He rolled his eyes and Bones frowned at the sarcasm.

 

“Now see here!” 

 

“Come on, Spock,” Jim said, rising now with a genuine smile on his face. “Let's go mind the store.” 

 

~*~ 

 

**December 3** **rd** **, or The Day of the Festive Synthesizers.**  

 

As December first had been dubbed the Day of the Jovial Music, December third would be remembered as the Day of the Festive Food Synthesizers. Scotty had been “inspired” by all of the cheer. And as Jim had had only coffee for breakfast, he hadn't realized the changes until lunch. 

 

All easily re-shaped items, namely sandwiches, were cut into Christmas tree shapes. The old food cubes that still hung around had been re-programmed to only red and green. The synthesizers all now boasted holiday favourites for drinks such as hot chocolate, teas featuring cinnamon and cloves, and hot mulled cider. Not to mention the endless varieties of cookies that were now available, but that was the case every year. Jim sighed with defeat when his pasta came out featuring green, spinach infused noodles under his red sauce. The commissary was abuzz with excitement over the new food options and Scotty was gloating rather loudly while an animated Chekov rattled off all of the science he'd helped with behind the scenes to get things working just right.  

 

“Captain.” Spock stood stiffly at Jim's side. “I cannot help but notice you are not nearly as enthusiastic as the rest of the crew over your holiday-themed foodstuffs.” 

 

Jim pushed his tray along the shelf as he grabbed another plain cup of coffee, even if it were in a red and green cup. “Oh, it's fine, Spock. After all, wouldn't that be illogical? My pasta is pasta, regardless of its colour theme.” 

 

“That is true,” he conceded. “I did not mean to imply that your logic was faulty. However --” 

 

“Did yeh see th' peppermint option for yer coffee?” Scotty interrupted, sliding up next to Jim with adorable, if a little overpowering, enthusiasm. 

 

“I did indeed, Mister Scott,” he reassured with a smile. “But I think I like my standard version just fine.”

 

“Oh, aye, of course Sir. But just so ye know that it's available --” 

 

“Duly noted, Scotty.” He grinned, then turned back to Spock. “You were saying something, Mr. Spock?” 

 

Spock eyed Scotty and the general lack of privacy of the commissary. “Negative, Captain.” 

 

Jim just shrugged and led the way to their table to eat his holiday-themed lunch. 

 

~*~ 

 

**December 10** **th** **, or The Day of the Long Range Communications Project.**

 

“Can you even do that?” Jim blinked at the dual smiling faces of his communications officer and his favourite Russian. Jim Kirk was a pretty smart man, but his crew were specialists in their fields, and just generally all geniuses. 

 

“Yes, Keptin, that is the point!” Chekov grinned. “There is nothing between the _Enterprise_ and  the next major communications station, so it should be very possible to implement the plan well in  advance of the holiday.” 

 

“In fact, Captain,” Uhura interjected, “We could have it set up by this evening, and if Mr. Spock will draw up a basic shoreleave-style rotation, crew members could begin contacting their families immediately. Everyone would be able to have a chance to say hello to home by the holiday.” She smiled warmly. 

 

“That would be wonderful, Lieutenant.” Jim shared a warm smile of his own. His crew was really something. “Great work you guys. Mister Spock? If you'd get that rotation going?” 

 

“Of course, Captain.” Spock had already been preparing the procedure to do so when Uhura had made the initial suggestion moments earlier.

 

As usual, he sent out his ship-wide message to everyone's PADD, allowing every crew member to sign up for a slot with highest ranking officials having first pick. Unlike shore leave, however, it seemed that most desired spots were not the first options, but rather those closest to the holiday. Spock, for his own part, had been 50/50 in his own mind as to whether the preferred slots would be early or late. On the one hand, speaking to family close to the actual holiday itself seemed to be of significant cultural importance. On the other hand, with the high excitement running through the ship as of late, he wouldn't have been surprised for people to want to get a jump on things. 

 

The captain, of course, had first pick, and as Spock had expected he waived his slot altogether. Spock did likewise. And while other crew members might see these actions (if they noticed them at all) as selfless and generous toward the rest of the crew, Spock suspected that he knew the truth.

 

For himself, Christmas had no special significance to him. Not even his mother had celebrated, as she'd given up most of her cultural practices when she'd gone to live on Vulcan with Sarek, in the Vulcan way. Spock knew that some of Amanda's family had celebrated, but perhaps, he reasoned, she had never been particularly attached to the holiday to begin with. Aside from the obvious Vulcan lack of attachment to the day, Spock had no one he would call anyway. His relationship with his father was strained to the point of avoidance on his part. And as much as he may love his mother, a long range comm. call would simply not be worth it. It could only bring discomfort to all involved, as far as he was concerned. 

 

And Jim, Spock knew, was likely in a similar situation. 

 

He had no concrete proof, of course. Last Christmas, the _Enterprise_ had been on a diplomatic mission. So while the festivities still ran high aboard the ship, Kirk, Spock, and most of the highest ranking officials of the command team had taken it upon themselves to deal with diplomacy and work so that the rest of the crew could try to celebrate. When they had concluded their work, there had still been music and decorations, Christmas cookies in the synthesizers, and even a grand New Years party for a final celebration wherein Jim had drunk and made as merry as was expected from him. And not an ounce more than was expected. It was clear to the Vulcan that this was simply not Jim's favourite time of year. 

 

The year prior to that, Christmas had taken place at a starbase, and Spock honestly hadn't seen heads or tails of Kirk the entire duration of the stay. It was little evidence to go on in and of itself, but he had added it diligently to his mental catalogue. 

 

Now with this recent opportunity to contact family, it wasn't surprising to Spock at all that Jim should decline. After all, his father had died the previous year, and Winona, while a loving mother, was not exactly known for her warmth. Then of course there was the tragic death of Sam, Jim's brother, whom he still refused to discuss so doggedly and stoically that he could almost have passed as Vulcan himself. So no, Jim had no family to contact over the holiday, much like Spock. And Spock was starting to suspect he knew exactly why Jim had such distaste for the season. In addition to the commonly cited “good cheer” and “good will toward man”, it seemed to him to be a time overwhelmingly focused on _family_. Jim's family, like his own, was on the _Enterprise_. And this family was busily focused light years away on a concept of _home_ illusive to both him and the captain _._

 

He'd tried the past few days to display his friendship to Jim. His loyalty. First when he had noticed Jim's displeasure at the Christmas carols, and later when he had tried to relate to the illogic of the holiday-themed food. But Spock, in spite of his many years of immersion, was not proficient at communication with humans, and certainly not those of an emotional nature. Still, he was determined to try. 

 

“Captain,” he asked at length later during their bridge shift.

 

“Yeah, Spock?” Jim asked distractedly, as he spaced out and fiddled with his PADD.

 

“Would you be amenable to one of our chess games? Say tomorrow night?”

 

“Sure, Spock. Sounds great,” he answered, still distracted. But that was fine with Spock. He had no wish to try and say anything significant here in public. Tomorrow evening, when they had the luxury of staying up late and sleeping late the next day, he would have his chess with Jim and would find some way to let the man know. That he was there for him. That he understood. That they shared some of this discomfort, and could take some solace in doing so together rather than alone.

 

~*~

 

**December 11** **th** **, or The Day of the Christmas Tree.**

 

Jim sat with his Christmas sandwich alongside Bones and Spock at supper time, and all of them spent more time watching than eating. The sight before them was something between a comedy and a disaster as Sulu and Chekov wrestled a ginormous Christmas tree into the corner of the cafeteria while excited crew members crowded around to shout unsolicited advice, prepped and ready for when the tree was finally set up so that they could chip in with the decorating. Nurse Chapel already stood by in position with a box of decorations she'd procured or made from who knew where or who knew what.

 

Spock's brow rose skeptically at the shenanigans while Bones grinned like a child. Jim, as the captain, felt like he should be at least a little responsible for the safety of his crew, but was hesitant to be a total spoil sport about it. After all, Nurse Chapel was right there should anything go wrong. He picked at his sandwich and tried not to freak out. After all, what was he, eighty? They'd be fine. Everything was fine.

 

In fact, Sulu in particular was better than fine. He'd spearheaded this project. Last year he'd only managed a pine themed garland, but this year he'd grown a whole damned tree. Jim had no idea how botany worked or what the hell went on in the hydroponics lab most of the time, but they'd stopped at what he had deemed Canada Planet two months ago and Sulu had had some sort of inspired fit until he had been reluctantly allowed to bring tree samples on board for this thing. Apparently all had gone to plan, and Jim was glad he'd gone along with it now, if only to see the look of joy on Sulu's (and everyone else's) face.

 

“You gonna finish that sandwich or kill it?” Bones griped.

 

“Hm? Oh, little of both I suppose.” Jim smiled, a bit chagrined. He was quickly losing his appetite in the face of all this unbridled cheer. He just wasn't _happy enough_. It wasn't that he was depressed exactly, but he felt like a total grinch when compared to the bright spirits around him.

 

“Come on, Jim,” Bones said, standing to deposit his own tray. “You'll feel better after you help decorate the tree.”

 

“That's okay, Bones, you go ahead,” he deflected.

 

“Now, Jim, I'll have you know that Christine's been stringing popcorn for days with our stocks of dental floss and surgical thread, and if I had to put up with that waste of supplies and those corn contaminants in my sickbay, the least you could do is appreciate her efforts.”

 

“I'm sure it's great, Bones,” Jim said, quickly standing to deposit his own tray. “But I just remembered I have a few things to take care of.”

 

“What? What things could you possibly have to do out in the middle of the cold vacuum of space?”

 

“Oh you know,” he hurried. “That communications schedule isn't going to finalize itself.” In fact, Spock had finalized it yesterday, but whatever. He quickly backed away. 

 

“Captain,” Spock interrupted, knowing full well that Jim was making things up to escape discomfort. He'd done variations on this himself often enough to know the signs. “Are we still on for chess?” 

 

“Hm? Chess? Oh, right.” He had forgotten. “Maybe tomorrow, Spock. Rain check?” 

 

What was there to say? “Very well, Captain.” 

 

~*~

 

Jim was a terrible person. He knew this. A great Captain, but a terrible person. He took a swig of whiskey and stared up at his ceiling. He really shouldn't have blown off Spock tonight, and he knew it. Honestly, if he'd been even a regular, normal person, he'd have been in good spirits. He'd have finished his tree-shaped food and would have delighted in decorating with his crew, then he would have  had a rousing game of chess with his closest friend and the best First Officer in the 'fleet.

 

Instead, he was moping alone in a dim room with his stash of liquor for company, grateful that the ever present carols couldn't penetrate his walls. Just another two weeks of him being cordial and avoiding

the more overt merry-making and they'd be well on their way to the new year. Which still wasn't his favourite, but was much more manageable than Christmas. New Year's Eve brought with it drinking and counting as its major modes of celebration, and that was immeasurably better than red and green and trees and snowmen, not to mention the saccharine holo-vids and greeting cards. No thank you.

 

~*~ 

 

**December 16** **th** **, or The Day of the Secret Santas.**  

 

Spock moved his bishop and maintained what others called his “poker face”, feeling inwardly smug. Jim frowned and furrowed his brow, seemingly just now catching on to Spock's master plan.

 

“I am aware that you have not signed up for Nurse Chapel's 'Secret Santa' program, Captain,” Spock said stiffly. 

Jim scowled at the chess board, honestly more focused on finding a way out of this trap than on the conversation. “Yeah.... It's a good idea and all but I just don't know if it would be appropriate for some ensign to potentially have to get a gift for the captain, or vice versa, really. Might get awkward. You're perfectly welcome to participate yourself, though, Mr. Spock. Getting into the holiday spirit?”  

 

Jim wouldn't have thought it typical for the Vulcan to participate in holiday festivities, but then again Spock had surprised him before with his willingness to embrace other cultures. 

 

“Not exactly, Captain. In fact, I held similar concerns to yourself, as second-in-command.” 

 

“Mm,” Jim said, finally shifting a pawn and wincing. Spock immediately snatched up the pawn. Jim went back to scowling. 

 

“However, that does not mean we may not participate in our own gift exchange,” Spock continued. “As officers of similar rank, it would not be, as you say, 'awkward'.” 

 

“What, you mean like have a command staff only Secret Santa?” Jim asked, only vaguely interested in the thread of the conversation. “That's not a bad idea, actually. Maybe you could run that by --” 

 

“Negative, Captain.” Spock interrupted. He saw the potential here for an immediate failure to communicate, yet again, and was determined not to fail. 

 

“No?” Jim asked, looking up in total confusion. 

 

“What I meant to say, Captain, is that you and I might exchange gifts. With one another.” He sat stiffly in the sudden silence and waited for a reply.    

 

“Oh.” Jim blinked. “Oh, you mean.... Oh. Well.” He ran his hand back through his hair. “Of course, Spock.” he said with a smile, feeling awkward in a whole different way, but also a corresponding warmth. “I'd love to exchange a gift with you.” And perhaps it would be the first Christmas gift exchange that Jim had ever truly enjoyed. Spock, too, was filled with a sudden similar warmth at his success. Jim shifted his castle and Spock his knight.  

 

“Checkmate, Captain,” he announced. 

 

~*~ 

 

**December 24** **th** **, Christmas Eve, or The Day of the Christmas Party.**

 

Jim had scheduled himself for bridge duty alone on Christmas Eve, of course, but he knew that he couldn't get away with missing _all_ of the festivities. It was to be a full night, and with his crew so full of hope and good cheer, he didn't want to miss out on making a showing of being a good Captain, if not exactly a good sport.  

 

And so he'd gone to the Christmas feast in the cafeteria. He had consumed Scotty's cookies and dubious eggnog. He'd watched Chekov standing unabashedly under the mistletoe getting pecks from nearly every member of the crew, with his eyes on Sulu across the room the entire time. And he'd listened to the lovely musical performance by Spock and Uhura -- Lieutenant Uhura singing a number of well known carols with the crew joining in, and Spock accompanying on his Vulcan lyre. The instrument wasn't designed for this sort of holiday in mind, but it did the job all the same. And Bones? Bones made his own early retreat. The Christmas Eve communications slot was all his, and it really did warm Jim's heart to know that Bones would be able to talk to his daughter Jo this year, even while so far away from home, and with the awkward delay in sound and video that entailed. It would be worth it.

 

The Secret Santa gift exchange was just beginning when Jim made his exit. He'd already gotten his bottle of liquor from Bones earlier that week and had exchanged his own in kind. The same with Scotty. And Spock... well, he'd taken a bit more care with Spock's gift, but was loathe to interrupt his music.

 

“You're dismissed, Yeoman,” he said to Rand, who'd been holding the fort alone on the bridge until Jim could make it back. “Enjoy the rest of your holiday.” It was still early in the night, and Jim had taken all of Gamma shift for himself. Rand would still have plenty of time to enjoy the festivities.

 

“Thank you, Captain,” she smiled. “And Merry Christmas to you.”

“Merry Christmas,” he offered with a warm, if strained smile of his own. After all, it wasn't as if he hated Christmas exactly, and it wasn't as if he begrudged it to others. It just wasn't exactly a space for him.

 

Jim sat himself down in his Captain's chair and put on the viewscreen of the stars spread out before them. Space remained all around them, he reminded himself. And he was still here on his ship, still on the _Enterprise_ where he belonged. Christmas or not, he was where he ought to be.

 

He didn't know just how long he sat there lost in his thoughts and feelings about the season when he felt the familiar shadow just behind his chair and to the side.    

 

“Mr. Spock. Shouldn't you be enjoying the festivities?” he smirked. But of course, Spock wouldn't be anywhere else, would he? He'd always been there, by his side.

 

“I believe we still have a gift exchange to participate in, Captain. As tonight is the traditional night of

the exchange, and as I believe both our gifts are back in our quarters, it would make the most sense for us to adjourn there.”

 

“Mister Spock!” Jim grinned, turning toward him, “You know very well that I'm scheduled on this bridge until the end of Gamma.”

 

“Negative, Captain.”

 

“Negative?”

 

“Correct. I took the liberty of scheduling a more suitable replacement who should be here in approximately three minutes to relieve you.”

 

“You took the liberty, Mr. Spock? And why am I not surprised?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Pray tell, who is this suitable replacement?”

 

“Ms. Reiley from botany.”

 

Jim had heard the name, but honestly didn't know that crew member particularly well. His brow wrinkled slightly in confusion at the seemingly random assignment by Spock. But Spock never did anything randomly. “And why exactly is Ms. Reiley more appropriate?”

 

“She is, in fact, a Jehova's Witness, Captain. It is my understanding that those of her faith do not celebrate any holidays, and therefore was the most logical choice.”

 

“Brilliant as always, Mr. Spock,” he conceded. Just then the lift doors opened, admitting none other than Ms. Reiley, who it turned out was more than happy to get away from the celebration she couldn't in good conscience participate in. It was better for her, she'd said, than spending the night alone in her quarters or making her friends feel like they had to give up on their own party.

 

Jim was maybe a little bit put out that he wouldn't in fact be spending his time with his chair and the stars. But then again, spending time with Spock seemed just as right.

 

The Secret Santa had never been the point, of course. Jim had gotten Spock a book of Terran poetry he'd once expressed interest in. In fact he'd purchased it two starbases ago and had been saving it for a special occasion. Spock had done the same for Jim of course, though his gift was a nice warm sweater. Perhaps not seasonally appropriate exactly, without any snow to observe in space, but it was as good to wear now as ever. He, like Jim, had simply been waiting for the right time to give this gift. These weren't the first gifts the two had exchanged on occasion over the years, and weren't likely to be the last.

 

No music piped in to Jim's room as they exchanged the small tokens. No cookies, no eggnog, no hot chocolate. Instead Jim cracked open the brand new bottle of liquor Bones had gifted him and poured them each a measure. Spock set up the chess board as he always had. And Jim felt warm.


End file.
